Confessions Under Strange Circumstances
by thebondgirl
Summary: What happens when a recently releasedkiller comes after Jordan? Will Woody be able to stop the psychopath from claiming another victim? An alternate ending to the episode with that womanknifer,the difference that he goes after Jordan instead of the lawyer
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** heyhey peoples! here's a crossing jordan fanfic that i wrote a while back, and i figure i'd submit it for fun, see if anyone liked it at all. the fanfic you're about to read is based on an episode that i can't remember the title of, but it was the one with that really old serial killer that was about to walk free from prison, and ended up threatening jordan and the DA that she was with in the interrogation room- this is the ending that_i_ think should have happened instead of just having the lawyerchick shoot him when he tried to attack her.

**Warning:**i haven't read it since i wrote it, so it might not be the best story possible, and if it isn't, letme know in the most gentle way possible thanks!

**Disclaimer:** i don't ownthe crossing jordan show, or any of the characters, or else this would have been the ending to that episode! enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

It had been a long night at work; the elderly, and confessed, serial killer had been released that day, not five hours, give or take, before the medical examiner's office had uncovered the evidence needed to keep him locked up. Therefore, in light of these developments, they had spent the past three hours trying to track the worman-knifer down with no leads on any public transit outlets in Baltimore; it was as though he knew he'd be discovered and had gone into hiding the second he stepped foot out of the courthouse. As a result of his vanishing, Woody had insisted on escorting Jordan home and searching and securing her apartment thoroughly before letting her stay there alone, especially after the mysterious car theft just down the street from the courthouse, half an hour after the hearing.

'I've always liked brunettes with evil in their eyes.' The psychopath's words to Jordan that day were burned into their memories as Woody tailed Jordan's car back to her apartment building, parking quickly in the lot in front of the building before racing to beat her to the door. She promptly unlocked it and held it open for the detective, who rushed inside, doing a quick scan of the lobby before heading into an elevator with Jordan who casually hit the button for her floor. They rode up in silence and the second the doors opened, Woody was in the hall, looking quickly left and right, gun drawn, before standing beside her door.

"Woody, this _really_ isn't necessary," Jordan insisted for about the fifth time that night.Taking her keys out of her jacket pocket, she turned on in the lock, about to step in when Woody rushed in in front of her, gun still in hand, half raised, ready, as he started his search of the living-room. Rolling her eyes, Jordan waited in the doorway, watching Woody impatiently. Finishing his search there, he continued on to the bedroom, bathroom, and finally the study/computer room. He was still in there when she spoke, loud enough for him to hear her. "Is it safe to enter now, Detective Hoyt?" She didn't wait for an answer before heading for the kitchen. "Tell you what, I'm gonna make us some coffee while we wait for our serial killer to pop out of my sock drawer." Smiling at her own joke, she put on a pot of coffee and was getting out two mugs, milk, and sugar when Woody slowly walked in to join her. She turned to face him, another joke on her lips, and stopped dead when she saw what he was holding in his hand, remaining silent but looking intently at her; it was the ring he had tried to give her on her birthday.

"I…I found this on your desk," he stumbled, swallowing. "I remember leaving this in_ my_ desk drawer, at work, after you wouldn't take it." He looked at her steadily but his voice was soft. "Why did you take it Jordan?" Finally she found her voice.

"It was my birthday present, wasn't it?" she said defiantly.

"You and I both know that it was more than just a simple present." He sighed and looked at the diamond ring in his palm. "You know, for a while I could handle being pushed away, even rejected flat-out, but you know what really kills me? When you can't decide; when one day we're close and going someplace and the next, you get scared and blow me off, saying anything from 'I don't want to loose what we have', to 'I'm just not ready for that kind of thing' to get me to back off." He sighed again, angrily this time, and looked up at her. "Damn it Jordan, what do you want from me?" For a second, anger flashed in her eyes, but it quickly relented into a lost expression that tore at his heart.

"I don't know." Woody longed to comfort her and moved to sweep her into a hug, but stopped, slowly lowering his hands to his side.

"I forgot," he whispered. "You don't want to loose what we have." He slammed the ring down on her kitchen table and stalked out.

"Woody…" She heard her apartment door slam and she slumped down in a chair at the table, looking sadly at her birthday present before picking it up and holding it between two fingers.

'_So what if I do have feelings for him?' _she thought to herself. '_So what if I do go to work every day looking forward to seeing his smile? I could never tell him. If I did, and we did get close to being something, something would happen and he'd let me down, make me cry, like the other men that were or are in my life… wouldn't he?'_

Tears of frustration and sadness stung her eyes, but her anger with herself kept them from falling right away: _she_ had pushed _him_ away; she'd done it so many times now that Woody was probably already courting a new future Mrs. Hoyt, and she didn't blame him; it was all her fault.

At last the tears fell and with them came body wracking sobs that she hadn't known were in her; it was all her fault; he had given up on her and it was _all her fault_.

Sitting at the table, her back was to her floor-to-ceiling pantry.

She could not see the pantry door ease open.

Slamming the door behind him, Woody headed for the elevator, still fuming, set on staying angry all the way back down from the fifth floor to the lobby, from the lobby to his car, from his car to his apartment, and from there to his bed where he could go to sleep and try to shut out his many thought about Jordan. Reaching the doors, he found himself walking past them to rest his forehead against the glass of the window overlooking the building's rear parking lot, closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

He knew he should go back and talk to her; he hated leaving someone on bad terms 'cause you never knew what could happen and when if at all you'd see the person again.

Opening his eyes, he surveyed the cars below him, absently skimming over personalized licence plates when on in particular caught and held his gaze: TSW 155. Dismissing his suspicion at first, he finally relented and pulled the sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket that contained the licence plate, colour and owner's name of the car stolen that day near the courthouse. His suspicion turned to growing unease when he reviewed and acknowledged the information before him: colour-brown, owner-Mike Dawson, liscence plate-TSW 155. Slowly looking back out the window, he saw that sure enough, the car matched his written description and the given plate. A cold dread worked its way up his spine and through his heart; the stolen brown car was parked half-hazardly on the curb in front of the building, the driver-side door still open.

His last attempt at self-reassurance failed miserably when something occured to him: he never searched Jordan's kitchen. A view of her floor-to-ceiling cabinet flashed vividly in his mind and he redrew his gun, running back down the hall to Jordan's apartment.

"Does your boyfriend know you cry over him?" Jordan's tears and sobs ceased immediately, but she was stopped as she went to turn as a caloused hand was clamped securely over her mouth and nose and she was pulled from her chair to her feet. Recognition dawned on her and the only things stopping her from saying, 'Go firgure' was the hand over her mouth and the fact that she'd gone from self-loathing to terrified in 0.5 seconds: she'd found their serial killer.

-Well, there you have it, chapter 1! if you're nice and review, and get others to do the same, i'll only wait a day or so to put up the next chapter, if not, we're talking weeks! moo-ha! yeah, so anyways, please review:)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** heyhey! okay, here's chapter 2, as requested. thanks to everyone who reviewed for chapter 1:):)

**Disclaimer:** i couldn't remember the seiral killer's name, so i was forced to improviselol. anyways, read on, enjoy, and review:)

**Chapter 2**

In the hand that wasn't nearly blocking her air, Jordan saw the same sleek blade she'd seen in all those crime scene photos, except this time the knife was not in an evidence bag – it was half-an inch from her throat. She half-succeeded in slowing her hammering heart in order to think clear enough to put things together, and fast: the car stolen near the courthouse… stolen by the killer; he'd been hiding in her pantry so he'd obviously been here for a while, and they hadn't spotted his car when they'd entered the building through the front, which meant that the killer had parked either beside or behind the building, which meant that Woody wouldn't notice it as he left, which meant Jordan was on her own – and was probably going to die in a few minutes.

She was torn from her grim conclusions by the feel of the man's hot breath on the side of her face as he spoke, his words piercing the quiet of her small apartment. "You're a very beautiful woman Dr. Cavanaugh. I can see why he loves you." He laughed. "And to think I'd been considering retirement." And then, almost in slow motion, she watched terrified as the blade was raised in a high arc above both of their heads, preparing to lower with speed and accuracy to deliver its lethal blows to her abdomen, as was the man's style.

Her thoughts settled immediately on Woody; how she wished she could have been with him when she had had the chance. She wanted to cry but fear kept her eyes dry, wide, and numbly watching the blade as it began its arching descent.

When Woody suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, gun drawn, she assumed it to be wistful last thoughts but was happily proved wrong when Woody cried out, "Drop the knife!" The weapon halted in its descent but instead of complying to the detective's command, it quickly repositioned itself at Jordan's throat, pressed up against her skin carefully but poised to press harder if necessary.

"Ah, the prodigal officer has returned," mocked the killer from behind his human shield.

"I said, drop – the – knife," Woody repeated, taking a small step closer, finger waiting anxiously to pull the trigger of his pistol.

"You know what? I don't think I will. But I'll tell you what I will do," he said evenly as Woody took another cautious step towards them. "I _will_ slit your girlfriend's throat if you take one more step into this kitchen" Woody swallowed and obligingly froze. The killer laughed softly. "That's better. Now, judging by your demeanour, you'll be wanting to negotiate to save this pretty girl of yours, but before you get your hopes up, let me be the one to bust your bubble: I'm not interested."

"Then what are we doing here?" The man paused a moment and Woody took this opportunity to look at Jordan and was surprised to find that though there was fear in her eyes, the corners were creased as if in a smile, hidden by the hand over her mouth, and in her face was what seemed to be sad regret, but he really could not be sure; he had always had a hard time reading Jordan's expressions.

"What are we doing here? Well, I'm here to dispense of a beautiful brunette and you…" He moved his face out from behind Jordan. "…I suppose you're here to watch." And with that, the blade swung back up into the air – but before it could come down, Jordan brought her heal down with all her force on the man's toes, making him cry out and release her through his shock and pain. Naturally, she moved towards the door but the killer recovered quickly and grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back painfully so that she cried out.

In a second, Woody had sprinted across the kitchen and knocked Jordan away before pouncing on her attacker in an attempt to disarm him. Unfortunately, he had no intention of going down easy. The second he had lost his grip on Jordan, he was ready for the detective, knife in hand, so that when Woody threw himself forward, the blade was waiting. With a casual flick of his wrist, he slashed an unprotected forearm while he jumped to the side in the direction of the door. Woody grimaced briefly but jumped at him again, this time succeeding in pinning him to the inside of the doorframe, trying to redraw his gun while holding him.

No such luck.

With practised impact and accuracy, he quickly brought his head forward, hitting Woody above his right eye and stunning him just long enough for him to free his knife wielding hand from the officer's grip, swinging itdown towards his exposedthroat.

"Woody!" Jordan's scream sounded very faint next to the pounding of his heart in his ears as he caught and gripped the man's wrist in its decent, using all of his strength to keep the vicious-looking blade from plunging into his neck. He barely managed to shout to Jordan.

"J-Jordan – the – fire escape! Go! Now!" She hesitated and frustration welled in his voice. "Get out of here Jordan! Please!" Finally she complied and darted for the window and Woody gave a slight smile; even if he didn't make it, he would have stalled long enough for Jordan to escape with her life.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, the killer's interest shifted and his cool eyes darted to a set of disappearing legs as they left out the kitchen window; his prize was escaping. Luckily, this distraction was exactly what Woody needed. The second their attacker's eyes left his, he removed one hand from the struggle for the knife and punched him squarely in the jaw so that Woody won control over the weapon, tossing it into the far corner of the living room, once again reaching for his gun.

No dice.

Again before he could draw his weapon, the man, out of desperation, threw himself into the detective, knocking Woody painfully into the inside of the door frame so that he slid, winded, down its surface to his knees, his enemy taking this opportunity to kick him across his face, at last flattening him to the floor.

The serial killer returned his once cool, now wild gaze back to the window, and he started towards it.

**A/N:** and there you have it! sorry to leave you hanging, but i couldn't resist! review please:)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** heyhey! may i present chapter three of this little story of mine, and since it is a little short, i will update sooner than it took me to update this time. read, review, and enjoy:):)

**Chapter 3**

Jordan could barely keep her panic and desperation in check. Leaving Woody in a situation like that was to date the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but he told her to leave, the desperation in his voice obvious, and so she complied. _'Besides,'_ she thought as she made for the window on numb legs, '_I'll just be in the way, a problem waiting to happen. He can handle this… can't he?_

Her doubt ate away at her heart as she struggled through the window onto a rusted platform and made for its end that was attached to the top of a ladder leading down to the ground, to safety – or at least it was supposed to have been. Her heart took up its new residence in her throat as she looked at the place where the ladder had once been, vivid memories of a building wide letter that had gone out just last week stating that the ladder was too old and had been deemed unsafe and removed to make room for a safer replacement flashing tauntingly through her mind. At the time, she had feverently agreed with the decision, having been one of the many tenants to have put forth their concerns. Now, she would have given anything for the rusted-over metal ladder to be here, or any type of rope, be it the kind used to tie boats to the dock or a length of dental floss, _anything_ would've been better than being trapped, with nowhere to go but up, and from there, sent falling from the roof or stabbed.

Grabbing hold of the ladder step directly in front of her, beginning to hoist herself up, she stole a glance through her kitchen window, sudden fear and disbelief keeping her silent and frozen in place; Woody was on the ground, up against the doorframe, face contorted in pain, when the killer's foot connected with the side of his head, sending him sprawling sideways. Then suddenly the man was staring right at her, his furry and intentions evident in the look on his face as he started towards her.

The terrifying haze holding her cleared in an instant and she began to climb as fast as was humanly possible up the ladder, her only hope that maybe someone would look out their window, see what was happening, and call the police who would come and save her – provided they could make the normally half-hour drive in record time. Unfortunately, she had little hope of that happening since as she climbed, she saw not a flicker of movement behind the curtained windows, not one concerned face that belonged to the person that would make the call that would save her life.

And still she climbed.

Bellow her was the distinct sound of shoes hitting metal as her pursuer raced to catch up with her. Suddenly she heard something else that made her pause and listen briefly; she thought she had heard that same sound but further down the ladder, much further.

Her pause cost her dearly.

Just as she was about to continue climbing, she was nearly at the roof of her ten floor building, hands grasped both of her ankles in an iron grip and, before she could brace herself to resist, they gave a mighty tug that jerked her hands free of the grip on the rung above her and brought her falling downwards onto the landing where the man stood, her chin hitting a step or two on the way down so that her jaw throbbed and her ears rang. Before she could get up on her own, he'd grabbed hold of her shirt collar and dragged her to her feet so that she faced him and the knife that he held out in front of him.

"That was very brave of you," he whispered dangerously, holding the blade up against her side. "And that courageous detective of yours put up a good fight." He smiled though none of it reached his cold eyes. "I'll go back for him later." He opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a voice that came from a landing five floors bellow them.

"Let her go!" For a second the murderer's face was breached by mild surprise before it regained its usual composure.

"I thought you hit your head harder than that." His tone was taunting as he once again held Jordan out in front of him, this time dangerously close to an unguarded edge of their landing. Looking down without turning her face towards him, Jordan could see Woody standing, with his gun drawn and aimed at them, on the fire escape outside her kitchen window. So far away… too far away…

"Let her go!" he repeated. His hands were shaking slightly, both from fear for Jordan and from the splitting pain behind his eyes that had caused him to loose his grip on the ladder when he had tried to climb it, forcing him to make a stand from where he was.He hoped that this guy was too far up to tell. "We could make a deal!" The man laughed at this.

"And what deal would that be, Detective Hoyt?" he sneered. "Murdering countless women, attempted murder on another, and last but not least, assault and attempted murder on an officer." He shook his head. "The only deal that any lawyer in their right minds would try to scrape up from that is life in prison without chance of parole, and that is something that I can't, and _won't_ do." He gave Jordan a small push making her eyes widen fearfully as she tried to keep her balance on the edge of the metal landing, her mouth opening but no words able to escape her lips. Her eyes met and locked with his, and for once Woody was able to read clearly the thoughts running through her mind.

_Help me. Please, help me. I don't want to die._

"Don't!" cried Woody desperately, forcing himself to look away from Jordan's pleading gaze and shifting his back to the serial killer to aim, pulling back the hammer on his gun with his thumb. "What do you want then?" He watched as the killer smiled again and this time his eyes lit up as well as he moved to place his hand flat on the center of Jordan's back while he spoke.

"A flashy exit." And with the positioned hand he pushed Jordan, hard, sending her over the edge. Terror registered in her face as her arms flailed and her fingers clawed desperately at the empty space for something she could grab hold of, but there was nothing, nothing between her and the ground ten floors bellow.

Jordan's scream echoed in the once silent night.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **here it is... THE LAST CHAPTER! yay! yup, the story is finally complete, so read what's left and tell me what you think:):)

**Chapter 4**

"Jordaaan!" Woody's yell came hardly a second before the two shots fired from his gun, both of which hit their target squarely in the chest causing the man's knife to drop from his hand a second before he fell to his knees, blood dripping lazily from his mouth. Woody dashed to the edge of the fire-escape floor, looking fearfully down at the parking lot bellow to behold… nothing. His heart sped up with hope that was not wasted when he looked up to see that Jordan had managed to twist around when she fell and was now dangling from the killer's landing by her fingers. Woody wanted to cry in happiness: she was alive.

"Jordan!" He started climbing the ladders, as fast as he dared with his legs as weak as they were feeling right then.

"Woody! Woody, I can't hold on!" she cried, desperately trying to keep a firm grip on her lifeline. Catching herself on the metal platform in mid-fall had been almost impossible and had hurt a great deal, and now, having all of her weight being held by her hands was not any easier or hurting any less.

"I'm coming Jordan! Just hang in there! I'm coming right up! Almost there, just don't let go!"

"Easy for you to say," she said, meekly attempting a joke with humour that had long since been drained out of her.

Wood was halfway through smiling and only two stories from her when he looked up, freezing instantly, his mouth suddenly very dry. The man had somehow managed to drag himself to his feet, barely alive, and had stumbled towards where Jordan still hung. Looking down, he noticed Woody watching him, and smiled, lifting one foot up while balancing himself on the railing. Woody started jumping two rungs at a time, and the foot came down, with surprising force for a dying man, on Jordan's fingers. She screamed in agony at the sickening crunch, but miraculously kept her hold, if but barely. Woody had already re-drawn his gun and now let another bullet fly, and again it hit its target, this time resulting in loss of balance that sent the already dead murderer falling off the edge, barely missing Jordan on his way down to the pavement.

Ignoring the gut-churning thump, Woody raced up the last few rungs to Jordan's landing, crawling to where she still gripped the edge. He couldn't help but gape briefly at her already black and purple fingers as he leaned over to get a clear reach to grab hold of her and pull her up.

"Jordan," he said, reaching for her. She turned her face up to look at him through cascading tears of pain, but managed a weak smile non-the less that he tried to return to the best of his ability. Hooking his hands under her arms and careful not to kneel on her fingers, he slowly and painstakingly pulled her up, his own tired and aching muscles screaming in protest to the strain as he spoke through gritted teeth. "I got you. I got you. It's okay now, it's all over," he said, and finally pulled the rest of her onto the metal floor. Sitting up against the building's side, he hugged her to himself, partly to comfort her, but also to reassure himself that she had in fact survived all this, that he hadn't been too late or too slow to save her. "Are you alright?" He knew the question was a ridiculous one but felt he had to say something, afraid to voice the other things he was thinking about.

"My fingers hurt," came the choked reply. Looking down, Woody carefully took hold of both wrists, apologizing excessively when Jordan grimaced, tears still pouring down her face. For a long moment, Woody was silent and Jordan smiled meekly and shook her head lightly. "You don't have to not tell me; I'm a doctor – I know broken fingers when I see them," she said between gasps of pain. Smiling sheepishly, Woody replaced her hands in her lap, retracting his own, and sat back from her awkwardly in the long stretching silence. In the distance, they could hear approaching sirens that could only belong to squad cars. Jordan looked up.

"I guess my neighbours finally got tired of all the noise and called the cops."

"Actually, I called them," said Woody quietly, still looking off in the direction of the sirens, "before I went back to your apartment." She stared up at him now in curiosity.

"That reminds me, how did you know to come back, and how did you know to call them?" Woody's gaze shifted down to his hands.

"I looked out the window at the end of your hall and saw the car that was stolen today parked on the curb outside. The driver's door was still open, and call it a hunch, but I had a feeling that it wasn't a coincidence." Jordan laughed quietly for a moment before once more falling silent, the only sounds filling the air being the police sirens that grew louder by the second. Woody broke the silence with a sigh. "I guess we should probably get you down from here and to a hospital," he said, moving to stand. Jordan stopped by placing her hand gingerly on his arm.

"Wait," she said, looking up at him. "I need to tell you something." He hesitated only for a second before sitting back against the wall, looking at her with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"What is it?" For a second she couldn't find her voice, leaving Woody shocked; to his knowledge, Jordan never had a problem speaking her mind – to _his _knowledge. Finally she spoke, stumbling over a few of her words, leaving him even more surprised.

"I – The reason I took the ring later is because I wanted it and what it represented between us so much but I – I was afraid of being let down of – of having my heart broken again." Her voice kept cracking and wavering and she didn't like it at all. She sounded like a twelve-year old telling her crush that she liked the sweater he was wearing.

To her immense relief, his expression softened and he took her hands carefully in his, avoiding touching her fingers.

"Jordan, you _know_ I would never do that to you." A small smile gradually found its way to her lips. "When I thought I'd lost you, it was almost too much," he whispered.

"Now I know for sure." Smiling the smile that she had come to love, Woody reached forward with one hand to gently brush hair and tears from her cheek. Jordan brought the palm of her hand to the back of his head, making him wince involuntarily.

"How's your head?" she whispered, concern taking over her eyes.

"It's seen better days," he joked, though his eyes still squinted against the splitting headache that was becoming more and more intense due to the several hits his head had taken.

"I'll take care of that for you. I don't trust hospitals." She smiled the smile that he adored and returned readily.

"I love you." Jordan moved closer.

"I love you too."

The kiss lasted until the paramedics, who had gone with the police to Jordan's address, tired of waiting and finally climbed out of her kitchen window and up to them to bring them down to the waiting ambulances.

* * *

The second that he got off the phone with the doctor treating Jordan and Woody at the hospital, Garett raced out of his office, taking an elevator straight down to the parking garage in the basement. He almost ran right into Lily and Nigel who had just come back to the office with a late supper since they had missed it while searching for the escaped serial killer. 

"Geeze! Garett, what's the hurry?" asked Lily as she picked up one of the bags of Chinese food he'd made her drop. "The cops said they caught our guy – a little dead, but he's in custody. You should be staying here to celebrate with us over some fried rice," she said cheerfully.

"Well, we won't be eating until Jordan and Woody get back. I left messages on both their machines, which they should be getting soon since the two of them did leave to drive her home," said Nigel, trying to balance the stack of Chinese food boxes in his arms. Garett looked seriously at them both, whose smiles slowly faded.

"Garett, what's wrong?" Lily's expression told that she was expecting the worst.

"It has to do with Jordan and Woody. They had a little run-in with the deceased perp and –"

"Oh my God, Garett, how bad is it? Are they okay? What happened? Where –"

"Lily! Lily it's okay! Calm down a little and let me finish, alright?" Nodding stiffly, she remained silent but kept her wide, worried eyes on his.

"Right, here's what happened, and let me finish before you say anything or ask any questions: Woody followed Jordan to her apartment and searched most of it before leaving, but the guy was in Jordan's kitchen and attacked her when he left." If it were possible, Lily's eyes widened even further, and Nigel's jaw dropped in shock, but they kept their word and remained silent. "The details are still a little sketchy, but as far as I know, the three of them had quite the skirmish, leaving the bad guy very dead, Woody with a few cuts and bruises, some bumps on the head, maybe a concussion, and Jordan with some scratches and – and every finger except her thumbs broken." Lilly was now an ashen colour and Nigel had somehow managed to balance his boxes in one arm, placing the other one around Lily's shoulders in comfort, looking pretty dazed himself. "I was just on my way to the hospital now to check up on them. Before you ask, yes, you two should tag along, and bring the Chinese with you; something tells me these two haven't had time to get something to eat yet." Continuing to his car, he called over his shoulder to the still stunned pair. "You can both ride with me. We can get the rest of the story from them. Let's go!"

Within a minute, the three had piled into Garette's car and had sped off towards Baltimore General Hospital.

* * *

Due to the absurdly terrible traffic, it was almost 10:00 p.m. by the time they raced into the nearly empty emergency room with their food bags and boxes swaying dangerously. Striding up to the counter, Garetter flashed his ID at the only nurse present. 

"Garette Macy, Head ME at Baltimore medical center – could you tell me which examination rooms Detective Woodrow Hoyt and Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh are being treated in?" The nurse looked at his ID and then at him in awe as though the man the young nurse trainee was talking to was an FBI agent.

"Um – D-Detective Woodrow Hoyt and Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh?" she repeated.

"Yes. Which room are they in?"

"Um, the Detective is in room 310, and Dr. Cavanaugh is in room 315, just d-down t-that way," she said, pointing them down the hall to their left. They sped off, Nigel calling a 'thank you' out to her over his shoulder as they went.

Garette was walking right past room 310 when Lily stopped him.

"Garette, shouldn't we stop in to see how Woody's doing?" Garette was about to answer when she stopped him. "I know you're worried about Jordan, but she'd not going anywhere – she's being taken care of. And besides," she said, when he tried to object again, "he's probably the reason why we're visiting her in a hospital room instead of the morgue." That did it.

Shamefacedly and without another word, Garette opened the door to room 310 and walked in – to find the room empty besides a few slightly bloody dressings on the table. Pausing only briefly, Garette turned and walked out of the room and, on a hunch, made his way over to 315. With Lily and Nigel beside him, he opened the door wide enough for them to see in, smiling lightly at what they saw: asleep sitting up against the wall with an icepack pinned behind his head was Woody, and sound asleep against his chest with his arm draped around her was Jordan, her bruising fingers taped into braces and her hands carefully placed in Woody's lap. They looked so peaceful that Garet turned away, quietly closing the door.

"We'll let them sleep a little longer," he said, still smiling. The three nodded and, smiling broadly, set aside some food for the sleeping couple before helping themselves to a little Chinese.

THE END

* * *

**A/N:** well, there it is! i just couldn't resist putting in a little more woody-jordan, cause that's how it should be! i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. please review, cause i'm already starting my next crossing jordan fanfic and would like to hear how my very first was received:) 


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